


Bucky Barnes: The First Costumed Viligante

by im_pie_la



Category: Captain America, Marvel
Genre: 3+1 thing, Because no fanfiction of mine will ever end with happiness. Alway expect death, Death, Feels, M/M, Young Steve and Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_pie_la/pseuds/im_pie_la
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, Three Times Bucky Barnes Succeeded In Saving Steve Rodgers and The One Time He... Didn't</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bucky Barnes: The First Costumed Viligante

Steve fell back against the wooden fence and felt splinter embed themselves in this back, through his thin coat. 

"Oh c'mon." his breath rattles and he gets to his feet, legs shaking with effort. "That's all you go-" 

Before he could finish the sentence, a fist came out of nowhere and Steve's head snapped back, colliding with the fence again. He was half-passed out, on the hard floor, blood from his nose joining the concealed blood on his split lip, when he hears a tiny voice pipe up; a high-pitched roar taunting the bullies. 

The blood pounding through his ears blocked out most of the sound, but he could hear the rumble of the bullies voices and when he opened his eyes, a small boy (bigger than him, though) with a gap-toothed grin and shining blue eyes. The older boy's were gone, their retreating backs slinking down the alley.

"Hi, I'm James! Are you okay?" the boy attempted to dab at Steve's nose, his nose furrowed in concentration. 

Steve batted him away, struggling to feet and almost falling, James catching him and steadying him. 

"I didn't need your help. I had them on the ropes." he said plaintively. James' hands dropped from helping Steve and Steve saw the boy's smile dim. 

Steve suddenly feels awful and nudges his shoulder. "But thanks. I'm Steve."

Immediately he perks up, bouncing alongside of Steve, who lead them in silence to his house, while his mother was still at work. 

And later on, when Bucky (His middle name was Buchanan, and it was nicer than James. Not that James was a bad name, plus the other boy didn't mind, liked it even) was gently swabbing at his wounds with care, tutting at his bust lip and scrapes on his hands; Steve realised, that he actually really liked the dark-haired, gap-toothed little boy. 

 

Bucky walks out of the alley, leaning heavily on Steve. Usually it would be the other way around, but today, when Bucky had waded in to help Steve, they had left the blonde boy and started on Bucky, despite the other boy's desperate taunts and occasional punches to goad the bigger boys into leaving Bucky alone. 

"Godamnit it Stevie." he muttered, wiping away a trail of blood that trickled from his lip. 

"I didn't ask you to help." he joked, but he knew Bucky would never not help Steve. "Anyway I had-"

"Them on the ropes. I know, punk. I know."

Bucky turned his head away from Steve and spat out a wad of blood and spit. 

When they were back at Steve's house, Steve found a old T-shirt of his, to replace the bloodied and dirtied rag he had on. 

(that was when they were still roughly the same size, before Bucky shot up and Steve seemed to shrink)

"Thanks." Steve said, later when they were sprawled over his bed, biscuit crumbs still on their shirts, blood carefully wiped away. The gramophone was crooning in the corner, Bucky closing his eyes to listen to his favourite songs. 

Bucky opened one eyes to smirk at Steve sideways. 

"Anytime punk."

 

Steve's late. The second the clock on the church strikes two, Bucky is up off their bench, mentally running through the most likely places where Steve could be being beaten up. 

He doesn't even consider the fact that Steve could just be doing some last minute jobs for his mother, or maybe simply late, he could have been held up by anyone, asking after his health or his mother or his art. 

He's glanced down two less likely alleys, before he hears punches and grunting just as he skids to the mouth of the biggest alley, the most favoured by the boys who beat up Steve, or who Steve beat up with his undying righteousness. 

(the sound of fists on skin was probably the backing music to Bucky's childhood, either from his father to him, or by the people Steve would confront. The accompanying melody was definitely Steve's laugh) 

He sighed in equal parts exasperation and fondness, before plunging down the alley, towards the nook at the end where they most undoubtedly were. 

He waded straight into the fight, not even taking to account how the boy being beaten up was bigger than Steve, ginger and not wheezing after the boys grew bored and left. 

Bucky watched them go, before turning, sighing, to the boy. The tall ginger lad was dusting himself off, frowning at the dark-haired boy who had burst into the fight without even knowing what was going on. 

"You stupid fuck, Steve."

"Who the hell are you?" the boy had a strong Scottish accent, which was tinged with confusion. 

"That mother-fuc..." Bucky ground out, before turning tail and pelted down the alley, Steve being out of his sight with the two tormentors out and about made him uneasy. He didn't like to engage in fights more than once a day. Especially as one of them had been in vain. 

"No need to thank me!" he called behind him, to the bewildered boy. 

"I wasn't going to." he retorted, before screwing his face up in an attempt to comprehend what had just happened. But this proved to be too hard, as he shrugged and walked after the mysterious boy, who was long gone. 

When Bucky arrived back at the bench, he was ten minutes late, and out of breath. 

Steve is just sitting there, swinging his legs, the picture of bloody innocence. He's holding a bag of liquorice, chewing demurely. 

His eyes drift accusingly to Bucky's knuckles, which are bruised and bloody. He looks disappointed with him, like he didn't get into fights every other day. 

"I ran down a alley thinking you were being beaten up." he explained, before plopping down next to Steve. He reached over, fixing the smaller boy with a deadly expression as he jokingly moved the bag out of his reach, for the liquorice. 

(it's his favourite and he's touched that Steve got it for him with his limited money, instead of flying saucers which he loves and Bucky detests) 

"How'd it go?" Steve asks, taking another piece for himself. 

Bucky smiles, nodding. "I had them on the ropes." and Steve rams his shoulder, rather uselessly, into him. But his fond smile slides off his face as he realizes what Bucky's wearing.

"What's up with the uniform?" Steve scowls, hating how he wasn't allowed to join the army, even though he was perfectly capable of fighting. 

(as long as the weather was mild, but not cold, and no seriously strenuous exercise was involved. And he couldn't run. And he didn't want to kill anyone. Totally able) 

He dragged Bucky to the office and forced him to sign up, despite the fact that Bucky had protested violently that he needed to stay with Steve and look after him. Steve insisted he didn't need help, unfortunately, the yelling and arguing had reduced him to a coughing fit, leaving him gasping desperately into Bucky's chest. 

Even after all that, he still hadn't given in. 

"It gets me the ladies." he whispered to Steve out of the corner of his mouth, while winking and waving at a pair of giggling girls, swooning their way past them. 

Suddenly, Steve started laughing, and Bucky turned to him.

"Are you saying I can't get a dame?" he joked. 

Steve spread his arms, brandishing the liquorice, "Bucky Barnes: The Costumed Vigilante!" he crowed, before dissolving into giggles again. His almost-cackles were drawing looks and Bucky tried to look normal through his laughter. 

"Hey, punk" Bucky chuckled, nudging the smaller blonde with his elbow, "Stop blowing my cover!"

 

It's long after the War, and Bucky is feeling severe de ja vu as he storms a HYDRA base, with Steve and the Avengers by his side, like the Howling Commandos did seventy years ago. 

But it's this one, just on the outskirts of Texas, where everything goes wrong. 

It's at this one, where Steve gets shot. 

 

Blood turns the blue fabric of his uniform red. Bucky whips around, as Steve coughs, falling to the floor and Bucky feels another wave of memories, but this time from even further back, young Steve hacking up his lungs in their apartment, Bucky desperately huddling around the sickly boy. 

A lung has been punctured, Bucky thinks, from the rip in his uniform and the amount of blood. 

"Steve!" he roars, in fear. Tony turns around, from where he's hovering in mid-air, still blasting HYDRA agents. 

Bucky collapses to his knees, next to his fallen friend. Arrows whistle down around them, Clint covering for them from the rafters. Natasha adjusts her position to help him, even though they're on different levels, to help protect their fallen comrade. 

Bucky cradles Steve's blonde head in his lap, ignoring how much bigger the other man is. 

(it doesn't matter, in Bucky's mind Steve is still the scrawny, blue-eyed kid from Brooklyn, too stubborn to back down from a fight) 

"Buck..." Steve rasps, in between wracking coughs. 

But Bucky is panicking. Steve's body isn't healing and the super-solider is dying. 

"I'm sorry." He whispers into Steve's chest, bending double to cover Steve's face from the carnage of battle. Tears fell from his eyes to mix with the blood on Steve's chest. 

He's sorry for falling off the train, he's sorry for leaving Steve alone, he's sorry for trying to kill him and he's sorry for sighing after every fight. 

He wants Steve to know that he would have let him have flying saucers instead of liquorice, and even though he didn't appreciate the copious amount of lost blood, of bruised eyes, knuckles, knees, he wouldn't have changed anything for the world. 

He would have never have left Steve by choice, he cherished everything that happened 

And Steve didn't know that. He didn't know. 

 

"It's okay, Buck." 

But its not, its not, its not. Steve is dying and they haven't caught up after the last seventy years, Bucky hadn't caught up with Steve, they hadn't laughed at the stupid inventions people had made. They had too many things to talk about. 

Bucky knows its the end of the line, seventy years late, but after cheating death once, he's still childishly hoping that they could do it again. 

Steve looks up at Bucky, like he hung the fucking stars and no one should look at Bucky like that and he's crying even more. Steve has a tiny smile, and he reaches a hand, covered in his own blood, up to Bucky's cheek. 

"It's okay. It's okay." 

And his baby blues slide close and Bucky screams, anything to wake Steve up, because it can't end like this. It just can't. 

But later, when his voice is hoarse and Natasha is holding him from behind, maybe hugging him or just trying to get him away from the limp body of Captain America, the grieving Avengers gathered around them and when the bodies of HYDRA agents litter the ground, Bucky whispers:

"It's okay, punk. You had them on the ropes."

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Tumblr post. Hope you enjoyed


End file.
